Toronto Love Story
by Lonestarr
Summary: "I'm just a girl...in front of a boy...asking him to love her." (Just experimenting with a title that *doesn't* make people crap themselves in anger.)
1. Acclimation

Disclaimer: A Gwen and Trent story? Those things still exist? You bet your sweet bippy! (Google it. It's not dirty. I promise.)

The groom looked very handsome in his tuxedo. His mother always told him that he should own at least one tuxedo. Though he felt uncomfortable in such fancy duds, one would never know from the smile on his face.

Opposite him, the bride's face was covered by a veil, but she was certainly smiling as well. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, but didn't think too much about it; every girl cries on their wedding day.

But I am getting way ahead of myself. This doesn't happen for, at least, another couple of years.

Let's go back. How far, you wonder? Well…

Let's say…October something, 2011.

The washroom was as clean as a communal washroom in a girl's dormitory could be given that it was utilized by no less than forty girls on a daily basis. Which is to say...it could've been cleaner.

That didn't matter to the green-eyed gentleman who'd climbed through the window. A girl with streaks of turquoise running through her dark hair helped him inside.

"Are you okay?"

He smiled warmly. "I'm better now."

The girl helped the young man to his feet.

"This couldn't wait for some other time?"

"Hey, you got to kiss another guy in a bathroom."

"Yeah…" The girl tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You look great."

"_Hurry up in there! I have to go!"_

The girl sighed. She was a little uneasy, at least until she felt the peck on her cheek. She started to blush. The young man smiled. She smiled back and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer. Their lips mashed together. The kiss they shared was as passionate as the emotion behind it was sincere.

"_What's going on in there?"_

The voice on the other side of the door sounded older and harsher than the last one. The young man knew it was time to go. With one last buss, he scurried out the window.

The door burst open. It was a woman, though she was built like a linebacker. She scowled at the girl, who responded with a look of feigned innocence. The girl cast a glance toward the open window.

Outside, the young man hung from a tree branch, shielded from the harsh woman's eyes by the foliage. She closed the window in a huff.

The young man dropped down from the branch onto the ground. He dusted himself off as he straightened up. He gave a quick glance toward the closed window.

"This never happened to the _other_ fella."

The bookish Asian boy in front of the young man just stared at him, wondering who he was talking to.

The young man shrugged as the lad walked off, clearly weirded out.

"_Hey, what time is it?" _The young man cringed. He could hear it from across the campus. _"About _nine _after?" _Some cackling frat boy who thought nothing of getting lit as early as noon.

The young man checked his watch. "No. Actually, I think it's closer to one." Without looking up, the young man extended his free arm and flashed the supposedly hilarious douche the bird.

Of course, it was a quarter past eleven.

* * *

><p>The classroom, as befitting a university, sat roughly 150 students. Most of them headed for the door as class was over.<p>

Political Science was a tough subject at the best of times. A handful of the students were there because their parents were in politics and wanted their children to understand the world they lived in.

Others were just stuck for a class when the easy ones filled up on the last day of registration.

And then, there was the young man, who seemed to have a genuine interest in what the bearded professor was trying to impart.

The young man gathered his books and shuffled across the row of seats to the staircase leading to the exit.

"Trent?"

He turned around. "Yeah, Professor Hamilton?"

"Could I talk to you?"

Trent shrugged as he descended the stairs. He set his backpack down as he approached the professor.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No. Very much the opposite, in fact. You are one of the most gifted students I've ever encountered. Very few students get the intricacies of our government the way you do. Are your parents members of Parliament?"

"Not really. I just…" Trent darted his eyes away, then back at Prof. Hamilton. "…have an interest."

"I wish more students had your interest."

"Thank you." Trent picked up his backpack and headed for the door.

* * *

><p>Textbooks stacked on his desk. Notebooks with writing furiously scribbled down.<p>

This was the desk of someone who wanted to work hard to succeed in college.

He couldn't understand how his roommate wasn't studying just as hard as he was. His course load was just as heavy.

Laying on his bed, the roommate turned to face the young man. "You know of any parties happening tonight?"

"Parties?"

"Maybe not parties, per se, but anything: mixers, get togethers, something. I need to unwind."

"I have a big exam tomorrow. I don't really have the time to go searching for parties." The tone in his voice seemed to be pleading for this to become a closed case.

"Okay, fine. Just asking." He glanced toward the wall clock. Restless, he grabbed his phone from his nightstand. A picture of him and his girl filled the screen. He pressed down on the 'internet' icon and opened his Facebook page.

The 27 people he followed that went to the school didn't seem to have much going on in the way of parties. He dropped the phone in frustration.

"To hell with it. I'm going to bed." He slipped underneath his covers, his socks and pants dropping to the floor from beneath his comforter. "Night, Mason."

"Good night, Trent."

* * *

><p>Gwen wasn't much for getting an early start on her day. However, her mother told her that she'd have to be to live up to her responsibilities for higher education.<p>

She chafed at having to attend classes that started at eight in the morning; it didn't suit her in high school and it certainly didn't suit her now.

She tugged absently on her blouse as she waited in a line of twenty people for coffee. It was pretty cliché for an on-campus Tim Horton's to be packed in the morning, but their java was some of the best. (The pastries weren't bad, either.)

* * *

><p>Running across campus, Gwen held a medium coffee in one hand and her backpack in the other. 'Why can't people have their orders ready <em>before<em> they stand in line?', she fumed to herself.

She ran past a bush. From the bush emerged a weaselly-looking man brandishing a cell phone that he held like a camera.

"Gwen! Hello!"

She momentarily stopped and turned around. "Do I know you?"

"Veek Smars-Houghton of the Instigator. Myself and my loyal readers are curious to know when you and Duncan would be getting back together."

Gwen shook her head. "Duncan? Should I know who that is?"

"The love of your life from 'Total Drama'. So, will you be reuniting with him soon or very soon?"

"I'm with Trent, now. He's with Courtney. I'm no romantic expert, but I'd say that means we have no interest in each other." Gwen started to walk away. The 'quote-unquote' journalist ran to impede her. "Jagoff, I'm late for my class and they only let you have so many tardies before they flunk you."

"But the opportunity to retrieve a lost love ought to matter more to you than an education."

Gwen sighed in frustration. She shrugged off her backpack and fished something out of it. "Okay, I think I'm good for a couple of minutes. Hold this." She handed her backpack to Smars-Houghton, who dutifully took it into both his hands.

"Thank you. Now-" Anything else he had to say was lost in his screams. Gwen deployed roughly a quarter of the contents of her mace spray bottle into his eyes. "What…why…"

"If your hands are full, you can't block against mace", she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She grabbed her backpack and sprinted across campus.

The 'journalist' was left crawling along the grass, blindly searching for something to sit on and regain his bearings.

* * *

><p>Gwen managed to find a seat in her class, high up in the room. No one liked sitting in the nosebleed section; it made it that much easier to be called on.<p>

Sitting immersed in the midsection allowed Gwen to get some doodling done in between taking notes. However…

"Gwen?"

She glanced up from a half-scribbled clothing design at the mention of her name. All eyes were on her.

The professor glanced up at her, 'Troilus and Cressida' written on the dry erase board behind him. "What did you take away from 'Troilus and Cressida'?"

Of course Gwen got the reading done, but she decided to consult her notes to refresh her memory.

She stopped cold at seeing what she'd written. 'Cressida made the biggest mistake of her life'. 'Troilus was a really good guy'. 'Why was Cressida so interested in Diomedes?'. Some of the writing had been stained with tears.

Gwen steeled herself and took a big breath. "My takeaway…", she started in a voice shakier than she had wanted. She cleared her throat. "My takeaway is that war destroys everything. It can cause irreparable damage to families, friendships and relationships. Troilus, a Trojan, loved Cressida, a fellow Trojan. In the midst of the conflict between the Trojans and the Greeks, she was traded for a Trojan prisoner of war. When Troilus went to see Cressida, he saw that Greek prince Diomedes was flirting with her. If not for the conflict, the two of them might have ended happily."

As some of Gwen's classmates murmured amongst themselves, the professor stared at her thoughtfully. "Interesting. Of course, the titular relationship is but a small part of the play itself. The Trojan War is the main focus…"

Gwen settled into her seat, fresh tears falling onto her notes.

* * *

><p>Sobey's was one of Canada's leading grocery chains. It specialized in exotic foods from around the world.<p>

More importantly, it was Trent's primary source of income. He smiled as he loaded groceries into a paper bag.

"Thanks for shopping at Sobey's. Hope to see you again soon."

Trent's gaze traveled from an irate-looking old woman in line to the person immediately in front of her.

The gentleman looked to be in his late 20s and very street-smart.

As Trent bagged his groceries, the man took a hard look at him. This was hardly a unique situation that Trent found himself in. He stealthily removed his name tag and pocketed it, figuring - correctly - that the man wouldn't notice.

"Do I know you?" A more frequent assemblage of words Trent had yet to hear in his life.

"I…don't think so." Equally common was this response.

"Yeah, I know I saw you on TV!"

Trent sighed. May as well get this over with. "Okay, you got me. There was a 'Littlest Hobo' revival in the late 90s. I was that kid he pulled out of a burning house. The dog was really nice. That'll be twenty-three dollars and forty cents."

The man gave Trent an odd look as he handed him twenty five dollars. Trent could only hope that the man wasn't compelled to verify this information online. Of course he was never on an episode of "The Littlest Hobo"; he'd been remembering a rerun of the show he saw as a kid in the late 90s.

"And a dollar sixty your change." Trent dropped a handful of coins in the man's hand. "Thank you for shopping at Sobey's. We look forward to seeing you again."

The man shuffled off, somewhat weirded out. The sour-faced old woman took his place.

"Find everything you were looking…for?" Trent glanced to the conveyor belt. There were no groceries. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"They told me you worked here, but I had to see it to believe it." She may have looked as old as the hills, but the woman's mind was sharp as a tack.

"Is there any-" The woman interrupted Trent's kindly spiel with a slap across his face. This got the attention of everyone at the other registers.

"My granddaughter loved watching 'Total Drama Island' with her friends. Then, 'Total Drama Action' started. She had OCD. When she saw you, everyone in school made fun of her. After a while, she couldn't take it. She swallowed a handful of pills. I'll never see her again...and I hold you responsible."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you don't-"

"I just wanted you to know that." The woman stomped away. Trent's fellow cashiers gathered around him.

"You all right?", murmured one of them.

Trent rubbed his still-sensitive cheek. "I'll get there."

* * *

><p>Much to Trent's relief, the rest of his shift went a lot smoother. Some of his co-workers suggested filing an assault charge, but Trent surprised them by refusing. He felt that the woman suffered enough.<p>

Still, the pain of the encounter - more emotional than physical - lingered all the way back to the campus.

Gwen ran up to him, a smile on her face. Trent tried his best to put his own smile on.

"Trent!" She ran up to him and wrapped him in a hug.

"Hey, Gwen." He tried to put some feeling into it, but it wasn't easy. She dragged him along.

"I'm thinking Pizza Pizza and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Sounds good."

* * *

><p>Known for Ontario's best pizza, the restaurant was pretty busy, even with a good forty-five minutes to go before closing.<p>

Gwen and Trent sat at a table, devouring their slices. She set her slice down, giving him a thoughtful look.

"So, how did things go today?"

Trent glanced nervously at her, mid-chew. "Fine. I went to work, got some studying in. Pretty boring, really. What about you?"

"Well, I had some classes today. Some Shakespeare here, some chemistry there. I even got some designs done."

"Have you decided on a major yet?"

"No. I'm still working on that." Gwen huffed. "Didn't know my mom was gonna be here."

"Still, it's something to think about."

"I'm a freshman. You know, like you? I have plenty of time to think about it."

"Okay. I just don't want you to run out of time."

"Thanks for your concern." Gwen was about to take another bite when she focused on Trent's face. She stared at it. "And was daddy too rough with you?"

"What?"

"You have a mark on your face. Where did that come from?"

"I walked into a door."

"Or it walked into you. Were you in a fight?"

"I don't fight."

"Trent, I'm not one of your customers. You don't have to bullshit me."

He groaned to himself. "An old woman slapped me at work. Her granddaughter had OCD and took her own life."

Gwen had thought of responding with 'You _did_ go a little crazy', but thought better of it. "I'm sorry about that."

"I hate hearing about that show."

"Tell me about it. Some wacko reporter made me late for class. He asked me when I'd be getting back together with Duncan."

"And what did you tell him?"

"No, obviously."

Trent had an inkling when a conversation was about to head south. "Maybe, we should stop talking about the show. That's only going to give it more power."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I tried calling you around five. You didn't answer."

"I was still pretty busy at work."

"But you didn't call me back."

"I…forgot."

"How do you forget that?"

"I…I was in such a hurry to get back here. I'm sorry."

Gwen sighed and kissed his unslapped cheek. "It's okay, but don't let it happen again."

"I won't." Trent tore into the rest of his slice. As Gwen finished off her own slice, she couldn't help but wonder why he was so evasive. She shrugged; hopefully, he'd tell her when he was ready.


	2. Lure of candy

The consignment store on Cumberland had its periods of activity throughout the year. Sometimes, it was busy, while other times, it was dead.

Much to Gwen's surprise, it was bursting with life. Apparently, many of the other youthful shoppers had the same idea.

Trent shrugged. "I don't know, Gwen. Aren't we a little old for this?"

"If we're not too old to eat junk food, we're certainly not too old for this." Gwen flipped through a rack of clothes. Her eyes lit up as she grabbed an item off the rack. She tucked it under her arm and rushed toward the register. Trent followed, unenthusiastically.

* * *

><p>October 30th was a night where people tried to squeeze candy out of households before the officially sanctioned day. 'Beggars Night', they call it in the States.<p>

Trent returned to his dorm room and collapsed on his bed. Sobey's was pretty busy on Sundays and all he wanted to do was sleep until the next morning.

His cell phone buzzed to life, the chorus of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)" poking at him.

Trent groaned as he groggily answered the phone. "Hello?" No answer. "Hello?", he said, irritation creeping into his voice.

He glanced at the screen. It wasn't a phone call, but a text. He opened it.

The picture seemed to be of a blue person, but from behind. The graininess of the picture prevented him from seeing it clearly, but he could make out a bit of orange at the top.

Trent shook his head. He glanced down on the phone screen. The message said 'You like the costume?'

He swept his finger up the phone. The text was from Gwen.

He raised an eyebrow. He dialed her number. It rang. Again…and again…and again…

"_Hello?"_

"I got your text."

"_Great. So, what do you think?"_

Trent hemmed. What was he supposed to think? "Who are you?"

"_Well, I wanted to surprise you, but I'm going as Mystique."_

"You mean, like, from the _X-Men_ movies?"

"_Yeah!"_

"Wow. That's…interesting. How'd you come up with that?"

"_Well, it was partway based on a dare. A bunch of theater girls and me are going to a party tomorrow. We each wrote down the most ridiculous costumes we could think of and put them in a hat. I drew Mystique."_

"And what did they draw?"

"_Can't you wait 'til tomorrow?" _Trent blanched. _"That reminds me, you never picked out a costume. Be a real shame if there wasn't someone to accompany me."_

"Of course I have a costume. Just need to put some finishing touches on it."

"Awesome. See you tomorrow." Gwen hung up. Trent leapt from his bed and rifled through the clothes in his closet. Of course, he didn't have a costume, so he'd have to jury-rig one in a hurry.

Nothing in his wardrobe that could be construed as a Halloween costume.

Trent sunk onto his bed. He hadn't wanted to disappoint Gwen. Sure, he loved trick-or-treating and dressing up for Halloween when he was a kid, but he didn't really feel up to it as a college man.

He considered himself a pretty smart guy, and yet, he couldn't think of a costume. Was this some kind of punishment handed down by…

Trent perked up. The wheels in his head began to turn. He rifled through Mason's clothes, thankful that his ritual of Sunday night study sessions with his classmates was upheld.

He held aloft a black T-shirt. It seemed a little small, but he hoped that it'd fit well enough. After all, he only needed it for one night.

* * *

><p>It'd been a long day for Trent. His classes had been a breeze, but it was what happened afterward that caused problems.<p>

All he needed to do was spray-paint a skull on the front of the shirt. However, he didn't really have a place to work. Leaving that kind of smell in his room would get him into trouble.

The only place he could think of to get it done was in the theater department, where this sort of painting was commonplace. There was another problem: Gwen had mentioned some 'theater girls'. Could he trust them to keep his secret?

Trent smiled. He knew exactly what to do.

* * *

><p>"Okay. That's five bottles of White-Out." The girl at the register gave the merchandise a peculiar look before turning toward Trent. He smiled nervously. "Will that be cash or charge?"<p>

"Cash." Trent produced a ten-dollar bill from his pocket.

"All right. That'll be nine sixty-five." She opened the register and place the bottles in a bag. "You know, that's funny. The way the total-"

"Can I have my change, please? My roommate and I have made a lot of mistakes." The nervous smile was gone from Trent's face as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a disapproving grimace.

"Fine." She slammed the thirty-five cents on the counter.

"You'll never make employee of the month with that attitude", Trent stated as he gathered his purchase.

* * *

><p>Trent consulted the picture he looked up on his phone. He draped the shirt over the washroom door and painted it with the White-Out. The window was opened to provide proper ventilation.<p>

After twenty minutes of painting (and just as much time drying), Trent donned the shirt.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. Mason's shirt was a little small on him, but it fit just enough. The skull really stood out on his tight frame.

It may not have been an exact match for the character, but given its many incarnations that he saw online, Trent felt it was good enough for the party.

* * *

><p>Trent stood outside of the dormitory. It was a little before 6:00 and the sun had gone down. He just hoped that his last minute costume was good enough.<p>

"_So, what do you think?"_

Trent turned around. Gwen came down the stairs. She truly resembled Mystique, from the slicked-back red hair to the blue skin. The make-up was impressive.

"You're not really…naked, are you?"

"Hell, no. I'm wearing the one piece I picked up at the thrift store and some underwear, just in case. But, otherwise, yeah, I'm pretty naked." She eyed his costume. "Nice. You're…The Punisher?"

"Yeah." The shirt, plus a pair of black pants and a dark trench coat from the thrift store, made for an effective costume.

"Skull's a dead giveaway." Gwen sniffed the air, her face cringing. "You smell that?"

Trent darted his eyes back and forth. "What's it smell like?"

"White-Out."

"People can be pretty clumsy. So, where's the party?"

* * *

><p>By day, it was a regular, abandoned warehouse. Didn't do much but sit imposingly at the corner of Dupont and Bathurst.<p>

By night, however, it could become anything: a soundstage, a meeting place for shady dealings or a Halloween party.

Thankfully, for the costumed revelers inside, it was the latter. A mix CD of spooky music filled the air. It came mainly from film scores. Currently playing: a track from the movie _Spellbinder_.

Gwen and Trent walked in, not drawing much attention. There were more attention-getting costumes on display: the puppet from the _Saw_ movies, Thor and a voodoo doll.

There was even someone dressed like the main character from the movie _Drive_, right down to the (possibly custom-made) scorpion jacket. Trent hadn't seen it yet, but he knew that his film studies class had been polarized by it. Some students felt it was a fascinating modern noir, while others felt it was a somnolent wank perpetuated by a director to whom nobody had the balls to say 'no'.

Trent took a look at how the building was dressed up. "Never been here before."

"Me, neither, but this girl in theater told me how it was good for a party as long as they got a permit."

"Gwen, hey!" A girl dressed like _Hellraiser's_ Pinhead waved at her. The outfit was custom-made. As for the pins? Modified golf tees.

"Hey!" Gwen hurried over. There, she also found girls dressed as an evil clown and (her own personal choice) Leatherface.

Trent waved at Gwen's friends, only to be met with disapproving stares.

"Yeah. I'm gonna see if I can't…find someplace to go." Trent couldn't think of a better excuse, but he could easily tell when he wasn't wanted.

He rested against a back wall. In the past, Trent had no problems when he was at a party; even when he didn't know most of the people there, he was able to win people over. Now, in the wake of the show, even in a crowd of people and with the love of his life a good fifteen feet away, he felt alone.

"_Trent! Is that you?"_

Trent turned around. It was a vampire, who looked a good deal like… "Tyler?"

Tyler shook his former competitor's hand. "How've you been?"

"I've been better."

"What's wrong?"

Trent shrugged. "Stuff. General stuff."

"Well, hang in there. Things can always get better. Cool costume, by the way."

"Thanks. You, too."

"Yeah. I wanted to go as Frankenstein's monster, but my Mom talked me out of it. It would've made a lot more sense, seeing…" Tyler motioned to the refreshment table.

There stood a young woman in a white robe and a frizzed-up hairstyle with a white stripe.

"Lindsay!"

She turned around. A smile crossed her face as she ran over. "Tristan! It is so awesome to see you." Lindsay underlined her exclamation by wrapping Trent in a big hug.

"Thanks, Lindsay."

She let him go and glanced him over. "So, who are you supposed to be?"

"The Punisher."

Lindsay nodded her head. "Oh, who's that?"

"From the comic books."

"Ohhhh. I think I've heard of him."

Trent turned back to Tyler. "So, are you in college?"

"Yeah. York University. Go Lions!"

"_Lions!"_ The cheer went up from a third of the crowd.

"How about you?"

"Humber College."

"Cool, cool." Tyler hurried toward another part of the room. "Hey, guys!"

As Trent saw Tyler greet what he could only assume were old friends, his feelings of loneliness flared up. His old high school friends hadn't attempted to contact him despite his 'friend requests'. He sighed despondently.

He suddenly remembered Lindsay, who he saw primping her hairdo. He smiled nervously.

"I…need to be by myself. Hope you don't mind."

"That's okay. I'll join you." Lindsay followed Trent into a broom closet. He took a seat on an old steamer trunk.

"I should never have come here. It feels like everyone's talking about me behind my back."

Lindsay smiled warmly. "Believe me. I can sympathize." The surprising thing about her statement was that she said it not in her usual, vacant, high-pitched tone, but in a calmer, normal voice.

Trent opened his mouth to say something, but he went agog at the sudden change in Lindsay's voice.

"Please, don't go silent on my account."

"Have you been taking voice lessons?"

"No. I've always sounded like this." Lindsay popped a lozenge into her mouth. "That voice may have helped me get exposure, but it's murder on the throat. Tea helps pretty well, too."

"So…is it just the voice you've been faking?"

"Trent, just ask what's on your mind: am I really that stupid?" Trent glanced away sheepishly. "No, I'm not. Just an elaborate performance."

"I'd say it's a damned impressive one."

"Thank you."

"Who else knows about this?"

"My parents…and Tyler. He was pretty shocked when I told him. More than you, really."

Trent started to think. "You've been pretending to be a dumb blonde this whole time?"

Lindsay motioned to her impressive body. "When you're built like this - 100% natural, by the way - people have already formed their opinions about you before you even open your mouth. I always liked to play pretend, so I figured, I may as well play the part they're expecting. I found that people liked the 'fake' me. I got decent grades, but not solid 'As' and 'Bs'. Had to keep the charade going."

"So, you knew the whole time what you were doing on the show?"

"Yes."

"So you did mean to poison me with the blowfish?" Lindsay covered her mouth. "Well?"

"You know I'd never hurt anyone on purpose, right? I was sweating bullets the whole time. I'd seen that "Simpsons" episode." Lindsay threw her arms around Trent. "I'm so glad I didn't kill you."

"That makes two of us…for the most part."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well…given some of what happened to me later on, there were times when I wished I had died…or, at least, felt like I did."

"What do you mean?"

* * *

><p>Gwen frowned at the scarcity of refreshments at the snack table. 'What's Halloween without candy?', she thought to herself.<p>

She poured herself a glass of punch and looked for a seat, the strains of the _Children of the Corn _theme filling the air. She took a sip.

A few feet away, a group of girls - dressed in costumes that were more 'slutty' than 'sexy' - commiserated, pointing at the other partygoers and laughing.

"…can wear as big a dress as she wants. Her ass is still fat." The other girls laughed.

"And what is with that 'Total Drama' guy showing his face around here?", cracked the slutty nurse. Gwen swallowed her punch. She wanted to hear where this was going.

"Yeah. He is such a joke. Who flips their shit over a number?" The slutty mail carrier rolled her eyes.

The slutty cowgirl chimed in. "I'd be really embarrassed if that were me."

"_You bitches just about done?"_ The girls turned toward the sound of the insult.

Gwen stood up, an angry scowl crossing her features.

"And what does this have to do with you?"

"Why should that matter? Hasn't he been through enough without bitches like you dumping salt in his wounds?"

"What are you, his mother?"

"I'm a friend. That's all that matters." Gwen advanced on the sluts. "Leave him alone."

Gwen stomped off. The slutty mail carrier stepped forward. "Too bad you can't change yourself into someone with better taste."

"I could change into you, but then I'd have to take my own life", Gwen spat, not even bothering to turn around.

* * *

><p>"Okay, that is one of the most heartbreaking and messed-up things I've ever heard."<p>

"Believe me, it's heartbreaking and messed-up to hear about, but excruciating to have lived through."

"Have you told Gwen?"

"I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Ah. Just like I am. I hope you don't wait too long. You two are back together, so you can't keep it from her forever." Lindsay shook her head. "I just can't believe it."

"What?"

"Her and Duncan."

"Oh, that. I don't understand it. You'd think it'd be one of the Ten Commandments of juvenile hall: messing with another guy's girl is a one-way ticket to Shankville."

Lindsay gasped. "Trent, you wouldn't!"

"Of course not, but I'm just saying." He looked into her eyes. "Lindsay, thanks."

"For what?"

"It probably had something to do with the story, but thanks for not giving me crap over nines."

"It had nothing to do with the story. I know a little something about being mocked for my 'Total Drama' persona. I mean, making fun of you for the number nine? You must be confusing me with the airhead I played."

Trent smiled and hugged her. Just as he released her, Gwen opened the door. "There you are. What have you been doing in here?"

"Just catching up."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"It was nice seeing you again, Trevor", Lindsay announced in her 'dumb blonde' voice as she waved. When Gwen's back was turned, she gave Trent the 'zip your lips' signal. He nodded in assent.

"Well, the candy here is non-existent. Wanna go trick-or-treating?"

"You know we can buy candy for, like, 70% off tomorrow, right?"

"What's the point of being dressed up just so we can _buy_ candy?" Gwen grabbed Trent's arm and headed for the door. "Let's rock!"


	3. Logging man-hours

Trent eased back in his break room chair. He polished off a mini Kit Kat which represented the last of the haul that he and Gwen took in Halloween night. He admitted to being a little reluctant, at first, but after a while, he really got into it, much to Gwen's delight.

Trent glanced at the clock. With a sigh, he pushed away from the table. Looks like break time was up.

* * *

><p>"Mommy?" A little boy stood in the middle of aisle eight, clutching a box of Corn Pops. No one answered. The youth started to tear up.<p>

Trent happened by the aisle on his way to the register. Seeing the nervous youngster made him stop.

"Hey, there", Trent said in a hushed, soothing tone. "Are you lost?" The boy nodded. Trent took a couple of steps forward. The boy moved back. "Don't worry. You can trust me." Trent showed him his nametag. "See? I work here. You can trust me."

"Okay."

"Now, you came here with your…mother?" Another nod from the boy. "Okay." Trent took his hand. "Let's go look for her."

* * *

><p>It took a good ten minutes, but Trent led the boy throughout the store. He passed by the exit. There, he saw a woman looking around frantically.<p>

"Louis! Louis!"

"Mommy!" The boy slipped out of Trent's grasp and ran into the arms of his mommy. She broke down as she hugged him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, sweetie. Don't you ever leave my side! You scared me so much. I love you." Trent turned to walk away. The woman grabbed his shoulder. "Thank you so much…" She squinted at his nametag. "Trent. You don't know what this means to me."

"It's no problem, miss. Anyone would've done the same."

"I'm definitely leaving a positive comment about you."

"Thank you."

The woman held her son in one hand and guided her cart with the other.

Trent smiled, a warm feeling overcoming him. He stopped suddenly. At the register, he saw a dark-haired nine-year-old boy load a bag of Oreos into his pretty mother's cart.

"No."

"Please?"

"I'm sorry, but you remember what your father said about sweets."

"But they're so good."

"I can't and I won't." The boy pouted. His mother smiled sympathetically. "Tell you what. You get a good grade on your history test tomorrow and I'll take you out for ice cream."

"What about Dad?"

"It'll be our little secret."

The boy smiled and hugged his mother. "I will."

"I love you, Trent."

"I love you, Mommy."

The scene disappeared before Trent's now-wet eyes. "I love you, Mommy", he said, as if in a trance. He shook himself awake and wiped his eyes.

* * *

><p>Trent's routine of waiting on customers at the register was more robotic than usual. All he could muster in the way of conversation was 'Hello' and 'Have a nice day'.<p>

He assured his co-workers that he was okay, but anyone could see otherwise.

Before Trent was even finished with his last customer - a young woman who might've caught his eye if he weren't a) sleepwalking and b) in a relationship - a smug-looking gentleman placed an energy drink six-pack on the conveyor belt.

"I knew I'd find you here."

This got Trent to wake up. "Do I know you?"

"Doesn't matter. That was some funny shit."

Trent decided to navigate this minefield gently. "What was?"

"You! 'Oh, this bowl has nine grapes in it, and nine is the number of justices on the Supreme Court!'."

"Is this really why you came here?"

"Pierre Trudeau was our _ninth_ Prime Minister, born in 191_9_ and served from 1968 to 197_9_."

"He was our fifteenth Prime Minister. I find it unsurprising that you have such a poor grasp of basic history." Unseen by the customer, Trent grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer next to the register. "In fact, this borders on harassment." Trent ejected two small squirts of sanitizer on the floor in front of the customer. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Am I not a customer?" Trent narrowed his eyes at the man. "I didn't catch that."

"Yes, sir."

"You're the face of this store. You have a responsibility to give the customer the best experience you can. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir", Trent replied, putting an edge into his words. Trent rang up the six-pack. "Six forty-five. Will you be needing a bag?"

"Nein!" The customer laughed as he handed Trent nine dollars.

Trent handed back a two-dollar coin. "I don't need this, sir."

The customer snatched it back. "Must not have been paying attention." Trent rang up the transaction and dug fifty-five cents out of his register.

He handed them to the man. "Have a nice day, sir." The man grabbed the six-pack.

"Don't you mean, 'Have a _nine_ day'?" The customer cackled as he began to walk away. He slipped on the small pile of sanitizer and crashed on the floor, the six-pack embedding itself into his crotch.

Trent flashed an amused smile for a second before rushing to help the man up. Under the pretense of dusting him off, Trent wiped off the excess sanitizer that was on the man's jacket. "My God, are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Trent handed the customer his six-pack. "You ought to be careful, sir. When you rush, that's when accidents happen."

"Yeah, rushing."

"You sure you don't need an ambulance?"

"I should be fine."

"Thank you for shopping at Sobey's." The man staggered toward the exit. Trent watched and waited until he was well out of earshot, his expression growing ever darker as he stared. "Douchebag."

* * *

><p>Blue Leaf Studios. An up-and-coming, locally based production company thanks to the one-two punch of youth shows "Pascal High" and "Divorced at 17". One would have to look closely at both shows to notice that they share the same sets.<p>

A sketchbook clutched under her arm, Gwen confidently marched through the studio, passing several rooms; offices to the wheelers and dealers that kept the facility's lights on.

One of them, a middle-aged brunette in glasses, peeked out of her office.

"Gwen!", she squawked in a harsh Jersey accent.

She spun around at the mention of her name. "Yeah, Mrs. Delvecchio?"

"Please. Call me Vicky."

Gwen approached Vicky, holding her sketchbook aloft. "I have those new designs."

"Wonderful. Come in."

Gwen sat down in Vicky's office. The room's wall was covered with autographed pictures featuring herself and celebrities.

"I think I did a pretty good job", Gwen beamed, handing over the sketchbook.

Vicky flipped through some of the pages. Her expression darkened with each flip. "These won't do."

"Excuse me?"

"These designs, they won't do."

Gwen stared at her in disbelief. "With all due respect, I worked very hard on these designs."

"And we appreciate that, but they're too busy."

"What?"

Vicky pointed to a design of a sport coat-miniskirt combo accented with a scarf and go-go boots. "This here. I mean, the scarf. It's not like the episode's going to be shooting in winter."

"It's more for fashion than seasonal practicality."

"And the boots clash with the whole ensemble."

"I got a look at the character bible a while back. 'Rosalie has a longing for the past and tries to reflect that in her wardrobe choices'."

"That is nice of you to be so conscientious, but until such an outfit is called for by the writers, it has no place on set." Gwen exhaled silently. "Understand?"

"Yes, Vicky."

"Terrific. Run your other designs to the costume department."

"Right away", the young woman replied with as little emotion as she could. Gwen had a reputation for being sarcastic, which was good for defusing tension around the studio, but not so much when it came to talking with her superiors, as the girl who used to have Gwen's job learned the hard way.

The office door closed behind her, Gwen stomped down the hall.

* * *

><p>Trent checked the punch clock. 4:57pm. Perfect. He smiled as he punched out for the day.<p>

"_Trent to the manager's office, please."_

He couldn't help but groan. Sure, he kind of knew this was coming, but right as he was leaving? Seriously?

* * *

><p>Trent walked up the stairs to the manager's office. Perhaps the smallest room in the store for reasons he didn't entirely understand.<p>

He took a seat next to a desk, his eye catching the wall of surveillance screens.

"_Trent."_

Coming up the stairs was an African-American male in his mid-40s. Smart, kind and a good husband, this is…

"Mr. Elias."

"We've been over this, Trent. Leonard."

"Sorry, Leonard."

Leonard sat down at his desk and regarded Trent. "So, you know why you're up here?"

Trent snuck a quick glance at the paperwork on the desk. Though it was rare to see his own name on it, he knew a disciplinary action report when he saw it. "I do, sir."

"That customer with the six pack?"

Trent sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Why don't you walk me through it?"

"Well, the customer…I rang him out and, the whole time, he was being very verbally abusive."

"You didn't respond in kind?"

"No, sir. When he persisted, I asked him to leave."

Leonard pointed Trent toward the wall of security screens. He aimed a remote at the screen in the upper right.

It showed the customer laughing and grabbing his six-pack before slipping on the floor. Trent stifled a laugh at seeing the man's tumble.

Leonard paused the footage on Trent's smirk. "A little happy, were we?" Trent quietly gulped. "Now, that by itself would've been enough to make me curious, but then I see this."

He rewound the footage to the point when the customer came up to Trent's register. The footage played out. The customer checked his phone and - in that moment - Trent squirted some hand sanitizer in front of the customer.

"That verbal abuse the customer doled out, might it have had something to do with a certain composite number?"

"It might've, sir."

"Trent, this isn't something like letting the air out of a customer's tires. You could've really hurt that gentleman or even killed him." Trent averted his gaze. "And what if he decided to sue the store? Just because he didn't mention it doesn't mean that it's off the table."

"I'm sorry, Leonard."

"I really ought to fire you for this…" Trent sadly got up from his chair. "…but you are a hard worker; smart, efficient. You remind me of me at your age…for the most part."

"And that means…"

"Two week-suspension, with six months probation upon your return."

Trent brightened up. "Thank you, Leonard." He leapt up and hurried down the steps. Before he disappeared from the manager's sight…

"Don't make me regret this."

Trent nodded. "I won't."

* * *

><p>Trent walked toward his car and whipped out his phone. He hit the 'speed dial' button. "Gwen. Are you free?"<p>

"_Not for another couple hours."_

"Well, when you're done, how about Pizza Pizza? I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"_Yeah. Sounds good."_

"I just need to make a quick errand."

"_Trent, I've been meaning to ask you. Where do you go every day?"_

"Every day?"

"_Around five. Your phone is always off. It's like you drop off the planet at that time."_

Trent shrugged. "Just a study group. No big deal."

"_Oh. What do you study?"_

"Political science. Pretty dull stuff, but we need it to pass."

"_Okay. See you in a couple of hours."_

"Cool. I love you."

"_Love you, too."_

Trent pocketed his phone and started his car, his heart heavy with the journey he was set to make.


	4. Yearning for companionship

The time was 3:57pm. Trent lugged a briefcase through the Center for the Arts, a very common sight for Humber's film students.

He hefted the briefcase onto the counter, surprising the dark-haired girl who was catching up on her reading. He placed his student ID alongside it, verifying his identity.

"Just made it."

The girl turned behind her to the clock on the wall. "Indeed you did." The girl opened the case. "Bolex camera, check. Light meter, check."

"I'm pretty trustworthy."

She narrowed her eyes. "So every guy holding one of these says."

Trent pursed his lips. He'd heard whispers of an on-campus urban legend about how a film student shot an old-fashioned amateur porno with his (almost certainly, once news of this got out, ex-) girlfriend. He never thought it was based in fact.

The girl closed the case and slid Trent's ID back to him. "Get any good shots?", she said in an implicatory tone.

"Yes, I did."

The girl snorted. "Come again, soon."

Trent simply turned on his heel and walked away. The shutter of the room closed behind him. He shrugged. On the one hand, he'd hoped that she'd learn to trust again. On the other, he felt it better to be thought of as a pervert than a psychotic.

* * *

><p>Trent dropped a package into the mailbox. The two weeks off of work allowed him to complete his short film assignment. In mere days, the raw footage would come back, fully developed.<p>

Trent whipped out his phone. He hit speed-dial and waited for the other party to pick up.

"_Hello."_ Even when worn-out and ragged, Gwen's voice was melodious.

"Hey, what's up?"

"_Very little. Certainly not me."_

"Why not?"

"_Having to run back to your room because you forgot your chemistry notes does that to a person."_

"I'm sorry. And here I was hoping to see a movie."

"_Maybe, you can tell me about it when we get a minute alone?"_

"It's not gonna be the same without you."

"_Come on. It's not like you've never not gone to the movies with someone."_

"Well, no, but that's not the point."

A strained yawn cut him off. "_Sorry. I need to go. Love you. See you tomorrow."_ Having been just as tired himself every now and then, he knew that Gwen's last bit of energy had been utilized on that string of words.

Trent pocketed his phone and sighed. As he headed for Pizza Pizza, he couldn't help but feel an emptiness inside of him.

* * *

><p>It was a regular day on campus. The wind blew gently but coolly.<p>

Gwen had had a restful night. She slept a good ten hours. Despite her disagreement with her mother's advice, it proved to be helpful. She just digested her plain donut as she marched across campus.

Her pace slowed as she saw the swarm of black-clad figures around Lindon Hall.

Gwen hurried to a small group of students under a tree. She tapped one on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Bomb squad."

"There could be a bomb in there!"

"Or someone called in a bomb threat. They might think it's funny, but some of us want to get our shit done right away, so we won't have to do it later on."

Gwen glanced up at Lindon. Her next two classes were in there. Who knows how long the squad would take. She figured that she could either wait around for them to finish, or she could head elsewhere. After all, they might be finished with but five minutes to go for her second class.

She charged for the bus stop, the second option firmly set in her mind.

* * *

><p>The bus pulled up to Eaton Centre. Gwen disembarked, along with a pair of old ladies. Gwen had attempted to chat them up, but one was more interested in sleeping, while the other was deeply involved in a game of Angry Birds on her phone.<p>

Gwen pulled out her own phone and dialed. It rang a good eight times as she made her way across the parking lot. Her smile was slowly fading away.

"_Hello?"_

"What's the matter with you? I thought you were dead."

"_Sorry. I got called back to Sobey's early. I just made it back for my break."_

"Oh. Sorry."

"_So, how have you been?"_

"There's a bomb in Lindon Hall or someone called in a bomb threat. We don't know for sure. In any event, class is cancelled."

"_Good for you."_

"I'm at Eaton Centre. I'm following a lead on some fabric."

"_Well, good luck."_

"And what about you? You catch a movie last night?"

"_Yeah._ A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas_."_

"How was it?"

"_Nuts, but pretty funny."_ Trent had originally planned to see _Tower Heist_, but seeing that the film was playing in screening room nine put paid to that plan.

"Well, I don't want to take you away from your break. See you tomorrow."

"_See you."_

Gwen pocketed her phone as she made her way to the entrance. She threw the door open, annoyed at how she and Trent missed each other again.

Nothing left to do but wait until tomorrow.

* * *

><p>"...and in 1949, Trudeau worked as an economic policy advisor in the Privy Council Office under then-Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent. This two year period served him well when he decided to enter politics later on."<p>

As Professor Hamilton continued to orate, about a third of the students took notes. Much of the rest of them were texting or catching forty winks.

Among the texters was Trent, who felt confident that he could retain the information without having to pay much attention.

Under his desk, he mashed the keypad with amazing dexterity.

'hey'

It took a few moments to get a response, but ultimately, it came.

'hey'

Trent chuckled as he continued to type.

'whats happening with you'

'im stuck in class and extra work to make up for yesterday'

'that sucks'

'so much'

'u think we could get together 2nite'

'i dont think ill be up for anything'

'i miss seeing u'

'me too'

'talk to u later'

'bye'

'bye'

Trent pocketed his phone. A day of classes and a night alone. Hardly the kind of life he envisioned with Gwen.

* * *

><p>Today was Thanksgiving...at least, in the States. The amount of American students that attended Humber represented no more than 17%, all of whom had left for the airports last night. That aspect of the American holiday mattered little to Gwen.<p>

What mattered to her is that her boss Vicky was, by now, already at her New Jersey home. She mused on this as she sat in her history class.

Her phone buzzed, breaking Gwen out of her reverie. She excused herself and made her way out of the classroom.

"Hello?"

"_Gwen, we need you to come in tonight." _It was Delia, an executive assistant.

"Seriously? Why?"

"_Some of the footage needs to be reshot. You know Brianne?"_

"Yeah?"

"_She got arrested late last night. DUI."_

Gwen rolled her eyes. Brianne was best known for playing "Pascal High's" teetotaling good girl Wilma. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"_Some of the producers were thinking, as long as they were changing things around, maybe you could give them some new designs."_ Gwen squeezed the phone in her hand and kicked at the air.

"Is Vicky flying back up here?"

"_Of course not. She's videoconferencing from her house."_

"All right. I'll be there."

"_Wonderful. See you then."_ Gwen threw her head back, almost as if she wanted to scream. Instead, she dialed on her phone.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Trent. Bad news about tonight."

* * *

><p>Gwen sat at the bus stop, her backpack beside her. It was starting to get chilly out there and the bus wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes. Gwen shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. A horn honked not far from her. She glanced up.<p>

"_Milady. Your chariot awaits."_

Gwen perked up.

* * *

><p>Trent really liked his Chevrolet Epica. Roomy. Dependable. Inexpensive. The one thing he didn't like about it was what he was currently facing - traffic.<p>

Gwen turned to him from the passenger seat. "How were you even able to pull this off? I thought you had to work."

"I moved my schedule around. This is supposed to be my lunch break."

"Are you sure you'll make it back in time? I thought you were on probation."

"I am. I just want to make sure you get there safe. I figure, this way, at least one of us will have a job." 17 minutes left on his break. It'd be a close one.

Gwen bit her lip. Initially, she appreciated how self-sacrificing Trent was acting...until she remembered the last time this happened. Just as the traffic started to budge, she opened her mouth to speak. "Trent, it's not that I don't appreciate this, but-"

"Gwen, please don't bring up that show."

"It's just that-"

"The show is bullshit, smegma, squadoo. Can we just not mention it?!"

Gwen sank in her seat. "I'm sorry." She brought her head back up, an offended look on her face. "No, you know something? I'm not sorry. I really don't like what that show - hell, just the _mention_ of it - does to you. It's like you're not the same person. Do you even still play the guitar?"

Trent simply stared ahead. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"That's okay." The cars moved, drawing attention away from the awkwardness of their silence. "Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome." Trent sighed. "I felt like I had to do this. We've barely seen anything of each other this week. I'm almost afraid we'll end up seeing less and less of each other until one day, I miss a call from you. I don't hear anything for a while, then I find out you've been creamed by a truck." There was a haunted urgency to Trent's words. "I don't want that to happen."

"You make it sound like the universe is conspiring to keep us apart."

"It did, before." Gwen glanced out the window. "I just feel like I got lucky with another chance at this relationship. I don't want to blow that."

"Trent, as long as you don't hit me, lie to me or throw me under the bus when you crash a car, I think we'll be fine."

"I'm pretty sure I can avoid all of those things."

Gwen smiled as she glanced ahead. The production offices of Blue Leaf Studios came up at the end of the block. "Well, that's me." Gwen grabbed her backpack and hopped out. She bussed Trent on the cheek.

"Let me know if you need a ride back."

"I will." Gwen closed the door behind her and strolled toward the building. Trent reached over and pulled the door shut. He pulled back into traffic, a warm feeling overcoming him.

* * *

><p>There were only so many available slots for which to utilize the editing room this late in the year. Thankfully, Trent registered this afternoon slot the day his footage was sent in the mail.<p>

Having only received the package a half-hour ago, he knew he had to act fast.

Very few films were edited on Moviolas these days, so Trent and his classmates didn't understand why they had to use them, but they adapted as best as they could.

Trent spooled his footage, attaching the loose end to an empty reel. His phone rang before he could turn the Moviola on. He was sure he'd turned it off.

He answered. "Hello?"

_"__Hey!"_

"Gwen. How are you?"

_"__Just about to get some lunch. Trent, I thought about what you said last night."_

"What was that?"

_"__We don't get to spend too much time together. Then it hit me. Why don't we visit each other's families for the holidays?"_

Trent paled. "Our...families?"

_"__Yeah. You can meet mine, then I can meet yours. I would suggest meeting yours first, but Mom's gonna insist we spend Christmas together and who knows how long she'll want us to stay after that. Trent?"_

"Yeah. I'm here. That sounds good."

_"__Well, I have some free time tonight. Pizza Pizza?"_

"I'll be there. Seven?"

_"__Awesome. See you."_

"See you." Trent hung up. He exhaled. This was going to be an interesting holiday season.

* * *

><p>Fun fact: Around the time I put up chapter 2, I had this chapter ready to go, then I ended up having to redo it from memory. From my lips to God's ears, I promise that if I ever find any of the c-words responsible for the Cryptowall 2.0 virus, I'll make them wish they were never born.<p> 


	5. Obfuscating facts

During a snowstorm, there's no better place to be than inside. At Humber, the best place to be when you had to be on campus during a snowstorm and after finishing exams was Tim Horton's...just where Trent was now.

He nursed his cup of hot chocolate, to savor it, but mainly because it was piping hot.

A handful of people, enjoying coffee and pastries, glanced out the window. The snow wasn't letting up and, if the weather apps on people's phones were to be believed, wouldn't be for some time.

As much as Trent liked the ambiance, he wasn't in the mood to stay.

* * *

><p>Trent was pretty far from his dorm and didn't feel like hiking back. The blowing snow was soaking his pants. He knew he had to find shelter fast. Like a number of people, he got a little sick at spending too much time around pastries; the sickly sweet smell could make one's stomach turn.<p>

Not ten feet away, he saw Pendleton Hall. Trent had heard about a network of pathways that started there, but he wasn't sure. Still, anything had to be better than risking hypothermia. By now, his pants below the knees were completely soaked.

* * *

><p>Trent trod slowly through the tunnel, doing his best to not let the wetness of his pant legs get to him. He glanced up at the windows that lined the tunnels. Caked with snow.<p>

Nothing left but to keep going and pray that the snow would stop long enough for him to get back to his dorm.

Despite there being a number of education halls on the path, Trent kept going. His exams were done. He had no desire to chat with any professors until at least next semester.

Trent reached a door at the end of the tunnel. He pushed through.

* * *

><p>Trent made it to the library. Hallways, tunnels and bridges led him here. By now, he was so exhausted, he sat down in the nearest empty seat there was. He figured that he could settle in with a good book and wait out the storm while his pants dried.<p>

Much to his surprise, the table he sat at had a stack of books sitting on it, all gathered near the table's only other occupant.

"Noah?"

The tablemate lowered his book - Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" - and glanced in surprise. "Trent."

Trent laughed a little. "Long time, no see."

"I wouldn't say it was that long. We did shoot that 'World Tour' finale."

Trent silently mused. He decided to think carefully about what he said next. "So, how have you been?"

"Pretty good. Finished my exams this morning and now, I'm waiting out the storm."

"Yeah, me too." Trent glanced toward the stack of books. "You mind if I read one?"

"Go right ahead." Noah groaned. "Most of these people are just here for the wi-fi. God forbid you do some reading in a library."

Trent plucked a book from the pile: 'Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger'. He quickly put it back. "So, what's your major?"

"English Lit with a minor in creative writing. I've read a lot of books in my life. I may as well try writing one. And you?"

"Film."

"Funny you should mention film. I'm actually working at the Gigantoplex in the mall."

"No way."

"Yeah. Just running the projector. Helps me get a lot of homework done."

"You don't even watch the movies?"

"They're not really worth it. It's all remakes and comic books now. Still, it's a job."

"Hmmm. I'm at Sobey's, myself. It's pretty nice." Trent noticed the rapidity with which Noah returned to his book. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm sure you want to finish that book."

"To be honest, it's nice to have a conversation with someone that doesn't involve that damn show."

"Speaking of which, I heard how you decked Alejandro."

"Well, the jackass had it coming for what he did to Heather."

"I've been reading things online. I've heard whispers of things. Really, you and her?"

"Yes, really."

"How did you manage to tame her? No offense."

"Believe me, if it wasn't true, it'd be offensive. She and I push each other's buttons, but we do care for each other deep down. Kind of like how Duncan and Courtney used to be."

"Ah. Still, I didn't think you had it in you to punch someone's lights out."

"You get backed into a corner, you don't have much recourse."

Trent's expression darkened, his voice lowering to a grim monotone. "What I wouldn't give to serve Chris up a knuckle sandwich."

A sound that Trent didn't expect came out of Noah: laughter. "You are preaching to the converted, right there." Trent joined in, laughing off his (serious?) intent. "Still, I wouldn't recommend it. Assault charges and all."

"Alejandro filed them?"

"Yeah. A court date was set and everything, then it came time to pick a jury. By the time he filed the charges, word of how he framed Heather was all over Canada. Everyone they brought in for a juror was biased. After a while, they figured it wasn't worth it."

"What ultimately happened?"

"I got slapped with a restraining order. If I come within 50 kilometers of Alejandro, I could be looking at some jail time...which is just as well; I never want to see that SOB again."

"Interesting story. I think you might have a good head start on a writing career."

Noah smiled a little. "Thanks." He returned to his book. Trent grabbed one from the pile: 'The Princess Bride' by S. Morgenstern. He cracked it open, hoping it was even slightly as good as the movie.

* * *

><p>The set was a high school hallway, as could be seen from the lockers and the fact that 40-50 extras gazed on at two of the show's main characters, Keilana and Slim.<p>

A hush fell over the set as the camera rolled on. The director, with one eye on the monitors and one on the set, raised his megaphone. "And action!"

Keilana scowled at Slim. "Get it through your head: I own this school. If you don't like it, the exit's that way. You will not be missed."

"You may think you own this school, but you don't own me."

"_And cut! That's a wrap!"_

The crowd of extras dispersed while talking amongst themselves.

The crew members congratulated each other. From the back wall, Gwen gazed on. She couldn't help but smile. Her designs for a crowd of extras were to be beamed onto every TV, computer and tablet in the Great White North.

Gwen turned around to walk away, but a hand grabbed her shoulder before she could make three steps.

It was Vicky, whose ear to ear smile made the girl a little uneasy. "Gwen. What brings you here?"

"I've never really visited the set before. I just wanted to see my work in action."

"And it is very good work."

"Thank you."

"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that we won't be needing you any more."

Gwen glanced up, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean, 'any more'?"

"Sorry. I got a little distracted. Any more this year." The girl breathed a sigh of relief. "This was the last shoot of the year. Everyone's knocking off for the holidays."

"Well, that's good to know."

"Yeah. See you next year."

"You, too." Vicky's phone started to ring. As she hurried off to answer it, Gwen grabbed a bottle of water from the craft services table. She took a swig from it just as two extras - teenage girls younger than her - approached the table.

"Can you believe it? I never thought I'd end up on television."

The other girl took a seat, tying her short hair into pigtails. "Me, either."

"Still, it is so boring waiting while they set up the camera. I don't think I could do this for a living."

"Funny you should say that."

The girl glanced quizzically at her friend. "What do you mean?"

"I got a call-back to be on the next 'Total Drama'."

Gwen spit out her mouthful of water.

The girl smacked her friend's arm. "Shut up. No wonder your status updates have been so cryptic."

"Yeah. No one knows yet, not even my folks."

"You really think you'll get on the show?"

"It's down to 30 other people. I like my chances."

"You know what happens on those shows, don't you?"

"I've watched every episode. I know what to expect." The girl with the pigtails shook her head. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am, but it's a pretty long shot."

"I'm getting on 'Total Drama'. Nothing's gonna stop me."

"Yeah, right, Zoey. You get on that show, I'll shave my head."

"Hope you've been saving your money for hats."

Gwen turned around, amazed that the determined redhead and her friend hadn't recognized her. She shook her head. That girl was sure to find out, sooner or later, what that show had in store for her.

* * *

><p>Trent carefully navigated his car through traffic. The snow let up just a little, tricking him into thinking that he could make it. He determined to make it back to campus, taking a brief glance at his passenger.<p>

"I can't wait for you to meet my family. They're all gonna be there. It's gonna- wait. I just thought of something."

"What?"

"You never told me about your family."

Trent paled. "Not much for me to tell. Mom and Dad loved me. I was an only child."

"And then, there's your grandfather."

"What?"

"The one with the train with nine wheels."

Trent gripped the steering wheel, almost ready to rip it apart. The blaring of a truck horn snapped him out of his anxiety.

He pulled the car over, his breathing erratic.

"Trent?" Gwen reached her hand out to try and comfort him. "Are you all right?"

He exhaled. "I'm all right."

Gwen knit her brows. No way was he all right. "Trent, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're all right."

Trent turned to her, his porcelain angel, and smiled. "I am all right."

"Okay."

"You know, I think I'd like to stay with your family for the holidays."

"What about your parents?"

"They're pretty busy. I don't want to inconvenience them. I'll call them, though."

"Awesome. We can talk to them together."

"Great", he said with no enthusiasm in his voice. He turned the key on the ignition. The car roared to life and returned to traffic.

* * *

><p>Gwen sat on her dorm bed, her laptop at her side. The expression on her face was as worried as it had ever been. "I'm concerned about Trent. I can't really talk about this with him and I didn't know who else to turn to."<p>

Two smaller screens appeared on her screen.

"Well, that's what friends do."

"If I had a problem with Harold, he'd be the first to hear about it, but I'm here for you, girl."

"Now, what are you concerned about?"

"He's always unavailable around five, which is weird, but then, I suggested going to his parents' house for the holidays and he practically had a shit attack."

The heavy-set girl raised an eyebrow. "You don't think he's back to...nineing, do you?"

"No. He hasn't mentioned the number at all since we got back together. Come to think of it, I don't remember him getting any therapy for it." Gwen shook her head. "Maybe, that's what he needs."

"Well, whatever's wrong, he does still care for you."

"Yeah. I guess."

"You're not thinking about Duncan, are you?"

"That depends. Are you thinking about Alejandro?"

The girl's sunny demeanor darkened at the mention.

"Why is this a big deal? Just ask him what's eating at him. If he loves you, he won't make a huge thing out of it."

Gwen half-smiled. It was worth a try. "I needed this. Thanks."

"Any time, Gwen."

"And happy holidays."

"Same to you, girl."

Bridgette and Leshawna closed their windows. Gwen shut down her laptop. She always managed to feel better after Skype sessions.


	6. Uncomfortable comfort

Around the holidays in Toronto, nearly every road out of town could be counted on for a log jam of traffic.

Thankfully for Trent, he insisted on leaving Humber before things got too close. His Chevrolet Epica sped along Highway 401, a series of cars behind him.

"Newmarket, huh?"

"Yeah. Lived there my whole life before the show."

Trent nodded. "Cool."

"How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"Where are you from?"

"Pickering."

"I didn't know that. Are we going there to meet your parents?"

"Not really. They moved."

"Oh. Where?"

"Into the city."

Gwen gave Trent a most quizzical look. "They've been in Toronto this whole time and you never told me?"

Trent simply shrugged. "I didn't think it was too important. I mean, you never mentioned your family."

She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it. "Good point. Still, I can't wait to meet them."

Trent sighed as he changed lanes. "I don't think we should be too far."

Gwen glanced outside and saw a road sign: 'Newmarket - 20km'. "Yeah, we're not that far off."

"Good."

* * *

><p>Stellick Avenue. Tucked away just off Sandford Street. And one had to get there by traversing down Mulock Drive.<p>

Trent stared at the houses on the street. All of them looked the same, yet each had a distinct color scheme.

"Are we there yet?"

Gwen glanced out the window. She grabbed her boyfriend's arm. "There it is!"

Trent pumped the brakes and glanced across the street. A lovely two story, three-bed, two-bath Victorian house done in a piquant shade of blue.

He cut the engine and hit the latch to open the trunk. "Need help with-?" Gwen got out and grabbed her bags. "Guess not."

Trent pulled his bags from the trunk and slammed it.

"I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

"Do you have a key?"

"I think it's in one of the bags."

"We're coming back to your house and you don't have the key ready?"

"Hey, for all I know, Mom changed the locks."

"She wouldn't do that to her daughter, would she?"

Gwen shook her head. "Nah." She set her suitcase down and opened it. She dug through her clothing.

Light shone on her, drawing her attention. Standing at the door was her mother. Dark brown hair, a warm smile and a nice figure. This was a mother? "Gwen!"

"Mom!" The two women embraced. The elder took notice of the disheveled clothing on the path.

"What happened to your clothes?"

"I was just looking for the key to the house."

"Oh, you needn't have bothered. I had the locks changed."

"What?"

"You're still pretty famous, young lady. You can't be too careful." She glanced past her daughter to see Trent gathering Gwen's clothes. "And you must be Trent." She ran up to him and gave him a good once-over.

"You must be Gwen's mom."

"Call me Pauline. 'Gwen's mom' makes me sound old. You're even more handsome in person."

"Thank you?" Trent felt himself get dragged by Gwen as he struggled to keep the bags together.

Pauline noticed as Gwen took her cap off. "You know the rules, young lady."

The younger woman groaned. "Do I have to?"

"As long as you're staying in my house, yes."

Trent stared, puzzled as Gwen kicked off her boots and stomped upstairs. "What's going on?"

* * *

><p>"You can just leave the bags at the top of the stairs", Pauline called out. Trent set the bags on the landing and retreated to the den.<p>

There, he found Gwen's family enjoying some television. On the couch sat a sweet old woman knitting. On the other end was a younger woman, lost in an old issue of Ladies Home Journal. In the chair sat an old man who gripped the arm of his couch with a four-fingered hand. On the floor lay a boy who looked to be on the cusp of puberty.

As Trent made a move forward, Gwen brushed up next to him. Trent was taken aback. The teal streaks were gone from her hair, leaving short, black locks. The hair had given her an even more Gothic look than she had before.

Gwen caught him staring at her. "What?"

"You look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but the hair. It just…"

"Don't get too attached to it. It's my mom's stupid rule. Thinks I'm too old to color my hair."

"I think it's a great rule", Trent whispered. He stepped into the den, leaving a blushing Gwen. She joined him on the couch.

"So, what are we watching?"

"Channel 9!", the young boy announced.

"You're watching public television?"

"Yeah." Gwen responded with a smack to the boy's head.

"It's Christmas time, as in a vacation from being an idiot." The old man chuckled at Gwen's remark. "Okay, Trent, this is Grandma Eleanor…" She waved at Trent. "...cousin Lulu…"

The woman dropped the magazine. "It's Louisa May!"

"...great uncle Kevin." He waved, his missing digit getting Trent's attention. "...and this, unfortunately, is my brother Jeremy. He keeps forgetting to ask Santa for manners."

"Mom!"

Pauline walked in. "What's going on?"

"Gwen said I didn't ask Santa for manners!"

The older woman kissed her son on the head. "There's always next year, sweetie."

"We're watching _Christmas in Connecticut_", Grandma Eleanor stated.

"Oh." Pauline sat down next to her mother. "I remember watching that, then you called me into the kitchen to help with dinner."

"Some things never change." The elderly woman turned to Trent. "So, I hear you met our Gwen on 'Total Drama Island'."

"Yeah, I did." Lulu rolled her eyes.

"They hit it off beautifully. It's not every guy that can get through to my little girl."

"Mom!"

"'Mom', nothing. It's true." Lulu scoffed, causing everyone to turn toward her. "Is there a problem, Louisa?"

"Just with the method that the two of you met. Reality shows willfully strip people of their dignity, all for a little bit of money and fame."

Trent shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it'd be nice to make new friends."

"'Total Drama'. Nothing more than a ridiculous fad."

"Says the woman with autographed copies of every Spice Girls album."

"You wanna say that louder? I don't think they heard you in Calgary."

"'Lulu, keep on chasing your dreams. Girl power!'", Gwen mocked in a ridiculous British accent. The rest of the family laughed. All Lulu could do was bury her head in her hands.

"_Trent."_ He turned around and saw great uncle Kevin beckoning him over.

Trent went over and was immediately pulled into a handshake. The younger man took a cursory glance at the elder's hands - pointer missing on his right hand, pinky and index on his left - and continued to shake, not losing composure for a moment.

The older man smiled. "Good to meet you."

"Same here, great uncle Kevin."

"Please. Just Kevin. Now, I heard you've been getting some crap over the number nine."

"Well, yeah, but it's just-"

"I can sympathize." He held up his hands. "Just be glad your name doesn't _rhyme_ with nine. That does not make things easier. One of my favorite movies used to be _Seven Thieves_ with Edward G. Robinson. Not so much, these days."

"Kevin, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Well, I used to work in a factory, making cars." Kevin started to laugh. "Let me tell you. Beer and heavy machinery...not a good mix."

"So, what's for dinner?"

Pauline shrugged. "There isn't much that isn't being saved for Christmas dinner for later in the week. Still, there might be some chili left over from yesterday."

"Really, Mom? Leftover chili?"

"It's okay. I don't want to put anyone out."

Pauline hopped up. "Okay. Be right back."

Gwen stared at Trent. "'I don't want to put anyone out'?"

"I'm sure that your mom and grandma will be working hard on Christmas dinner. Why put more work on them?"

She exhaled. "Okay."

Jeremy turned around. "So is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That you tried to chop off one of your fingers because it wasn't the right number?"

Everyone in the room stared daggers at Jeremy.

* * *

><p>It was a quarter of eleven. Most of the family retired to bed. Trent polished off another mug of egg nog as he noticed Gwen on the couch, sleeping.<p>

Pauline, in a nightgown, came down the stairs. "I thought I heard someone still down here."

"So, Pauline, where do Gwen and I sleep?"

"Well, Eleanor's in the guest room, Kevin's bunking with Jeremy and Lulu's in my room, so that just leaves Gwen's old room." Trent helped Gwen to her feet. "I can trust you not to make untoward advances on my daughter, yes?"

"Certainly."

"The sleeping bag's in the linen closet. First door on the right."

"Night, Pauline." Trent guided Gwen up the stairs.

* * *

><p>Trent was a relatively sound sleeper. Being an only child in a quiet neighborhood tends to do that. Still, he couldn't bring himself to ignore the worried groans that came out of Gwen.<p>

She was tossing and turning in her bed, her groans becoming full-on whimpers. Trent grabbed her shoulders and lightly shook her. "Gwen!", he whisper-yelled. Gwen opened her eyes, her breathing slowing down. "Are you all right?"

"I had the nightmare again. It's so vivid. I still feel myself in that glass coffin. I keep screaming for help, but nobody hears me." Trent sat on the edge of the bed. "It gets worse and worse each night", Gwen rasped, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." Trent hugged her.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I should've been there for you."

"Honestly, Trent. It's okay...but it doesn't explain why I keep having this nightmare."

"How long have you had it?"

"About a few months...not long after we got back together."

Trent hugged her harder and rubbed her back. "I wish there was something I could do about this."

"Trent, there's nothing you can do. The show left a deep mark on us."

"You up to going back to sleep?"

"I guess." Trent settled into the sleeping bag. He felt a hand grab his shoulder. "Trent, I don't want to sleep alone."

"You want me to sleep with you?"

Gwen chuckled in surprise. "Not if you put it like that. Just...sleep next to me."

"Well, thanks. The floor was getting rough." Gwen moved over, giving Trent room to lay down. Trent pulled the blanket over himself.

He gasped in surprise at feeling Gwen's arms wrap around him. She squeezed him and moaned into him. Trent felt a little weird being used as a stuffed animal, but he shrugged it off. There were worse things to be.


	7. Tidings of comfort and joy

It had to have been around four in the morning. Gwen still had her arms wrapped around Trent. Much as he appreciated the sentiment, he could feel his midsection getting sweaty.

Trent carefully undraped Gwen's arms. He rolled over and leaned over her. She truly did look beautiful - almost angelic - with dark hair. He kissed her ear.

"_That's so sweet."_

Trent turned around suddenly. The voice seemed to be coming from the closet. Glancing around for the nearest thing to a blunt object, Trent picked up a lamp. "Come on out."

The closet door opened. Out walked Izzy, who looked to the lamp in Trent's hand. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

He eased his grip on the lamp. "Izzy?"

The redhead smiled a child's smile. "That's the name. Don't wear it out."

"How did you get into Gwen's house?"

She shrugged like it was no big deal. "Izzy's been in everyone's houses."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Hiding."

Trent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know from who?"

"The RCMP. They say that Izzy's been making trouble. Izzy's been a good girl."

Gwen yawned a little. "What's going on?"

"Just watching you two sleep. You look so cute." She pointed to Gwen. "I like what you did with your hair."

The (temporary) brunette shook her head. "How long have you been here?"

"Since before you went to sleep."

"Ooooookay."

"Izzy needs to go." She lifted the window open and climbed out.

Trent pulled the covers up to protect him from the sudden cold. "Where are you going?"

"Wherever the wind takes me...or Harold's house. _Feliz Navidad_!" Izzy leapt from the window to the ground, sticking a landing worthy of an Olympian. "Merry Christmas, movie house!"

Trent closed the window and shook his head.

* * *

><p>The sun peeked in through the window of the room, but the temperature was still five degrees below Celsius. Snow was falling outside.<p>

Gwen sighed happily as she stirred under her covers. She glanced toward the bathroom. The light was on and the door was open. She supposed that Trent was in there at some point after Izzy left, but didn't cut the lights.

Trent crawled from under the covers. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Not at first, but yeah, eventually I did", she smiled.

A knock at the door. The young adults paled. Of course, they didn't do anything that night, but the rest of the family's imaginations could run so wild.

"_Gwen! Trent!"_ It was Pauline.

"Yeah, Mom?"

Pauline opened the door, a warm look on her face. "I'm making breakfast." She glanced at her daughter. Gwen had arranged her covers to look like a giant tangle of the sheets.

"Okay. I just need a few minutes to get ready."

Pauline turned toward the open bathroom door. "Trent, I hope you like waffles", she called out. She closed the door behind her.

Trent emerged from the covers once more. "I love waffles."

"Okay, that was close."

He shook his head. "What close? Nothing happened."

"Still, I don't want my family to get on me for anything."

He shrugged. "Fine by me."

The door opened suddenly. It was Pauline, a wry grin on her face. "It's good to know that the two of you can be trusted." The door closed once more.

Trent laughed a little and turned to Gwen, who buried her head in her pillow.

* * *

><p>Trent bussed his own plate. The waffles didn't know what hit them, nor did the bacon. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He found himself face to face with Grandma Eleanor.<p>

"Can I see you in the living room?"

"Sure, Grandma. What about?"

* * *

><p>The room was dark. Trent didn't know what to expect when he was told to come here.<p>

A lamp turned on, shining in his face. Operating the switch was Grandma Eleanor.

Trent put his hand up, protecting his sight. "What is this about?"

"I just want to make sure you have my granddaughter's best interests at heart."

"Of course, I do."

"How many girlfriends have you had?" Her tone was fast and clipped.

"Three."

"Serious?"

"Mainly flings."

"Why did you break up with them?"

Trent counted off on his fingers. "She broke up with me...boyfriend got back from juvie and...she couldn't handle a relationship after her mom died."

"Where do you work?"

"Sobey's as a cashier."

"Good market. Do you intend to work there forever?"

"Of course not. I'm studying to be a filmmaker."

"Hmmm. Favorite movie?"

"_Gone with the Wind_."

"_Real_ favorite movie?"

Trent sighed. "_Team America: World Police_."

"Your idea of a good wedding proposal?"

"Wedding?"

"It's just a question."

"At home, after dinner."

"Good honeymoon spot."

"New York City. I figure, neither of us has ever been and we could see the city together."

Grandma Eleanor smiled. "I had a good feeling about you, Trent." Her warm tone had returned. "Thank you for confirming it." She switched off the lamp and flipped on the light switch.

Trent stepped out of the room, still a little unsure about what happened. He glanced out the window at the snow still falling. His gaze shifted downward.

* * *

><p>Snow had coated the ground. In the front yard, Jeremy - bundled up - was gathering snow, packing it into a ball as big as his hands.<p>

Jeremy rolled the ball along the lawn, gathering more snow. "_Bet that's gonna be some snowman."_ Jeremy glanced toward the front door.

Trent hurried toward him.

The boy shrugged. "Yeah."

"Can I join you?"

"You're out here, aren't you?"

Trent shrugged. He spotted a big deposit of snow near a tree and packed it into a ball. He rolled it toward Jeremy. The boy packed a couple of handfuls of snow into his original ball, which was about a foot and a half wide.

Trent gathered more snow for his ball, a foot in diameter. He placed it onto Jeremy's ball.

"Thanks. By the way, sorry about last night."

"I've already forgotten about it."

Jeremy formed another ball and rolled it around. "I give stick to a lot of Gwen's boyfriends."

Trent stopped in his tracks. "Has she had a lot of boyfriends?"

"Just a couple. The last guy was practically asking for it. He had a freakin' mohawk."

"And how did that go?" Trent searched around for loose branches.

"Waited until mom and Gwen were gone, then he beat me up. I got some pretty good shots in, though. Mom wasn't happy with either of us, but it's like Dad told me: someone hits you, pretty soon, you have to hit back."

Trent saw some on the side of the house, right near Gwen's window. Izzy's landing must've been rougher than he thought. He turned back around. "Where is your dad?"

"Resting Hills." Trent blanched, nearly dropping the branches. That place sounded very much like a cemetary.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not like you gave him cancer." Jeremy loaded the head on top. "It still hurts, not having him around, you know?"

"I hear you. I remember something my father told me: 'Every setback in your life can make you stronger or weaker. The choice is up to you.'." Trent stuck the branches in the midsection, giving the snowman arms.

"That's good advice."

"I'll tell him you said so."

* * *

><p>Trent doffed his gloves as he walked back in. He passed by Lulu, bitterly planted on the stairs. He returned to meet her gaze.<p>

"Do I want to know?"

She didn't move an inch to acknowledge him. "Do you?"

"It's Christmas. I mean, you ought to be a little happy. Spending time with family…" Lulu stared ahead, unmoved. "You know, not everyone has family to spend time with." Trent brushed past her. "Think about that."

Lulu turned around. "Trent." He stopped walking. "The holidays...they just remind me of what I lost. I had a boyfriend a couple of years ago. He dumped me on Christmas Eve. I may not be a ray of sunshine this time of year, but I'm scared of what'll happen when I'm alone."

Trent gazed on, ruefully. There were times when he scared himself thinking of what would happen when he was alone. He put a hand on Lulu's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Lulu stood up and hugged Trent. "If you tell anyone about this..." Her voice was quivering.

"My lips are sealed."

* * *

><p>The Christmas tree was a beautiful sight, decorated in ornaments homemade and store bought. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. Yet, Gwen's family was focused on Trent as he sat on the couch.<p>

Jeremy was especially enraptured. "What was Owen really like?"

"Owen was a pretty cool guy. Had to watch out, though." Trent cleared his throat. "'There's something I should tell you about beans. They make me sleepwalk.'." It was a pitch-perfect impression that got the family laughing.

Gwen stood in the door frame, smiling as she watched Trent. Her mother crept up next to her. "He really is something, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is."

Pauline glanced slyly. "You sure I can't have a turn with him?"

"No, you cannot have a turn with him! You're more than twice Trent's age. How would that look? Besides, I'm in love with him."

"You see, that's really all I needed."

Gwen shook her head. "What?"

"I was never interested in Trent. Sweet, sure. Handsome, yes. But I'll always love your father. I couldn't do that to him."

"Then why the routine?"

"Just a test. I wanted to make sure it was love and you weren't bringing home some delinquent just to tick me off."

"I already apologized for Duncan."

"Did you not see the movie _Fear_?"

Gwen folded her arms. "I'd like to think I'm much smarter than that girl."

"Good to know. Still, you never know. We meet in a bar. A few Molsons later, he's your new stepdad."

"Mom!"

"Last one, I promise." Pauline sighed. "I wish Oliver was here. He'd have loved meeting Trent."

Gwen hugged her mother. "I miss him, too."

Trent came up to Gwen. "I saw you standing here." He kissed her. "Why don't you come join us?"

Gwen blushed while Pauline glanced up at the mistletoe hanging above the door frame.

* * *

><p>It was late. Gwen settled into bed. Trent was in the bathroom washing up.<p>

"I think your family really likes me", he called out.

"Good to know. I just hope your family likes me as much." Trent turned off the faucet and slipped into the sleeping bag. Gwen glanced down. "You're really gonna sleep down there?"

"And have your mom walk in again?"

"Good point."

Trent looked up at her. He scrambled for his suitcase and opened it. He pulled something out of a pocket. It was a ring.

Gwen gasped loudly. "Are you kidding me? We're still in college!"

"What? No, no. This isn't a wedding ring."

"Then what is it?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your family, but this is a promise ring."

Gwen laughed a little. "And what does it promise?"

"That no matter what, if we're together until we're old or if we break up in a week, we'll still be friends. We'll be there for each other: babysitting, kidney transplants, bail money, anything."

Gwen couldn't help but giggle. "It's a deal." She slipped the ring on her finger. "It's really nice."

"Thanks."

A knock at the door surprised them. _"Goodnight, kids!"_

"Night, mom!"

"Good night!"

Trent sighed as he watched Gwen fall asleep. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him as well.


	8. Daze of the holidays

Trent and Gwen spent a lovely Christmas at her childhood home...but why don't we look in on the rest of the "Total Drama" contestants…

The tree in the living room was dressed up with various ornaments. Underneath were boxes and bits of ripped wrapping paper.

Lindsay's parents watched as their daughter modelled a new pink dress, one of several articles of clothing she received. "These gifts have all been so wonderful."

Her mother, who with her features could easily have been mistaken for Lindsay's sister, produced a wrapped present from behind her. "I think you'll like this one best of all." She handed it to the young woman.

Lindsay eagerly unwrapped it. "Oh, what is...oh-em-gee!"

It was an autographed black and white picture with a smiling redhead. Lindsay trembled as she read the message.

_Lindsay,_

_Never stop chasing your dreams. You could make a terrific actress someday._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel McAdams_

Lindsay had seen _Mean Girls_ a good seven times when it came out. After she got the DVD, the number increased exponentially. (That the lead actress shared her name was a factor.) In particular, she was wowed by the (then-)unknown actress who played Regina. Seeing Ms. McAdams in interviews and finding out that she was a) nothing like Regina and b) a fellow Ontarioian was inspiring to the teenager. Seeing her in _The Notebook_ only cemented Lindsay's desire to become an actress.

Tears fell from her eyes as she hugged her parents. "Oh, thank you so much."

* * *

><p>DJ stood outside the house. In one hand was a suitcase. In the other was a cage with a grey bunny inside. He reached over and rang the doorbell with his suitcase hand.<p>

His mother opened the door, a smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Mama."

"Oh, my sweet boy's come home. Come on in." DJ hoisted his belongings inside and took them to the living room. "How are you doing in school?"

"I'm doing well. I'm learning about Canadian history."

"Wonderful. Roscoe! DJ's come home!" DJ stopped walking. He didn't know any Roscoe. "Now, how about helping me in the kitchen?"

"Mama, I just got in. Can't I relax a little?"

"There'll be plenty of time for that. Now, get in here."

"All right."

"I can tell you about the sweet man I met."

"You met someone?"

"_Sweetie pie, has your boy gotten here yet?"_ DJ paled. He knew that voice. He turned around. Coming down the stairs was Chef Hatchett. "Hey, there."

DJ couldn't help but faint.

* * *

><p>The old saying 'You can't keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen the lights of the big city' would hold true for most people.<p>

"_Beth, is that turkey ready yet?"_

Beth, on the other hand, was glad to be home, if only to see her parents, who she missed. She adjusted her glasses with one hand while hoisting an axe with the other.

"Not yet, mom!", Beth called out. She opened the barn door and headed for the back, where she saw a fattened turkey. The fowl stared at the shadow she cast against the wall. "Hey." The turkey simply gobbled. "Look, I'll admit that this isn't easy for me, either." She started to pace. "I mean, I've been away for a long time. I might be a little rusty, I admit, but this _is_ the food chain." The turkey cocked its head. Beth turned to walk away. "I'm very sorry about-" She suddenly turned around, lunging at the bird. "Yaaaaaaaahh!" The turkey's gobbles became choked as it staggered about. It fell to the barn floor with a thud. Beth felt the turkey's breast for a heartbeat. There was none. "Still got it." Beth raised the axe. This was not her first family Christmas. THWACK! "It's done!"

* * *

><p>A decorated Christmas tree. Wrapped presents. A miserable pair of adults on the couch. A ringing phone.<p>

_RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING!_

The woman turned to the man next to her. "I thought you changed our number."

"I did."

"Well, I certainly didn't give it to her!", she snapped.

"And you think I would?!", he snapped back.

_RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING!_

The woman picked up the phone. "Hello? Sierra, how are you?"

"_I'm still here in Guam. Now, you're sure Cody is here?"_

She nodded. "Pretty sure."

The man joined in on the call. "Of course, he could be in Nicaragua."

"_Nah. I've been all over Central America. Oh, where could my cuddle muffin be?"_

"Well, there's always Uruguay. Cody always wanted to go there."

"_Of course! He loves tropical climates!"_

"Sierra, aren't you worried about...I don't know, maxing out your credit cards searching for him?"

"_True love knows no credit limit. Talk to you later."_

The woman hung up. "That was close. Sooner or later, she'll figure out that Cody's not in another country."

"As long as it's not today, we'll be fine." They helped each other to the couch. He glanced over to the coffee table and moved the newspaper. "Look. A letter from 'Rad Awesome'."

The adults opened it as eagerly as any child with a Christmas present.

_Dear Mom and Dad:_

_Amish country is pretty nice. I miss the internet like crazy, but not as much as I miss you guys. I wish I could be there; enjoying Christmas dinner, watching TV with you. The people here are really nice, even though the work can be tough. I hope I see you soon, and if not, at least we have these letters._

_Your son,_

_Cody_

The woman teared up and hugged her husband, burying her face in his shoulder. He pat her back gently.

* * *

><p>A man and a woman stood outside a bedroom door that, like the rest of their house, had been decorated for the season. They both wore concerned expressions.<p>

"_No way!"_, a low, irritated female voice barked out.

The man knocked on the door. "Please, Eva. Come on out!"

"_I'm not coming out and nothing you say can make me!"_

The woman tried the knob, only to find it locked. "Sweetie, we just want to see you in your gift."

"_Then I can take it off?"_

"We promise."

The door opened. It was Eva...sort of. Her dark hair flowed freely, but most shocking of all was that she was wearing a pink dress. Not even her fuming expression could diminish the femininity on display.

"I can't...believe this."

Eva's mother beamed. "Your grandmother did such a wonderful job."

Her father nodded. "She sure did."

"How much longer?"

"Just until I get the camera."

"Mom!"

"Eva, we don't see you like this too often. At least, humor us. It _is_ Christmas." The adults rushed down the stairs.

She folded her arms. "Fine." She turned around and stared toward the mirror at the end of the hall. A slight smile tugged at her lips for a few seconds. "Okay. So I do look pretty."

* * *

><p>The barista at the counter held up a cup. There was but a handful of people left inside. "Peppermint spice latte for Katie. Peppermint spice latte for...the coffeehouse closes in ten minutes."<p>

Katie rushed to the counter. "I'm here! I'm here!"

"That'll be three-fifty."

Katie dropped a handful of coins into the barista's hand. "Thank you. Merry Christmas!"

"Yeah, yeah." The barista walked away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Katie shrugged off the snappish attitude as she took a sip of her latte. She 'mmmmmed' at the warmth of the beverage as much as the flavor. She bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction. Thankfully, she didn't spill anything.

"I'm so sorry. I...no way. Sadie?"

"Katie!" The two friends hugged.

"You look great!"

"You too!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm in town visiting my aunt and uncle. How about you?"

"I just needed a break from my family. I heard about these amazing lattes." Katie took another sip. "Soooo good."

Sadie looked up hopefully. "You don't think it's too late to get one, do you?"

"One way to find out." The two friends rushed toward the coffeehouse. "Wait, is that…?"

"I think it is." Across the street, they saw Justin getting swarmed by a crowd of girls. They continued down the street as fast as they could without slipping.

"So, how's school going?"

"Pretty nice. I'm taking some classes at University of Toronto."

"That sounds pretty cool."

"How about you?"

"Professional shopper. It's a fun gig…"

* * *

><p>Harold walked with Leshawna up the path of her house. He gazed at the two-story house nervously. "Are you sure your family will like me?"<p>

"No, but that's their problem if they can't deal with it."

A middle-aged woman opened the door and smiled. "Leshawna!"

"Mama!"

She turned to her daughter's companion. "And this must be Harold."

"It's an honor to meet you, ma'am."

"Get in here. No sense letting out the heat." Leshawna and Harold took off their coats and hung them up. They followed her mother into the living room. "Everyone, Leshawna's here! And she brought a friend."

The members of Leshawna's family turned away from the television to face Harold. From an old woman to children as young as five, they all seemed to have a variation of the same 'we can barely tolerate you' expression.

"I don't think they're happy to see me", Harold whispered to Leshawna.

"What are you talkin' about? Of course, they are. Harold, this is my dad, cousins and grandpa."

"Hello, everyone." The family stared at him. He saw a tray of cookies on the table. "I hope no one minds." Harold ate a cookie, much to the family's amazement. He took another one. "These are really good."

Mama leaned in from the kitchen and laughed. "It's nice to see that someone likes my blueberry cookies." DING! "Oh, the turkey!"

Harold nodded. Leshawna's father stood up and slapped him on the back. "Boy, you are the first person to keep those down around here. You're all right."

Leshawna nudged him, as if to say, 'told you so'.

* * *

><p>A young woman sat on the couch, rocking a baby. She looked weary, but the baby was giving its lungs a workout. An older couple came up to her.<p>

"Sharon, so good of you to make it."

"Thanks."

"And this is Tanya?"

"She's been crying since this morning. I couldn't decide whether to stay at home or come over." Sharon placed the infant in her stroller. "I need to rest."

The woman led her to a chair in the dining room. "It's okay. Dinner shouldn't be too much longer."

Ezekiel watched as his cousin rubbed her temples. He glanced down at little Tanya. "Hey." The baby continued to cry. "You're just a baby. What do you have to be sad about?" Ezekiel picked Tanya up. Still considered something of a black sheep in the family, he wasn't really allowed time with her.

To his surprise, Tanya's crying slowed down. Ezekiel stuck his tongue out at her. This caused her to laugh.

Ezekiel smiled. "I really like talking to you, eh."

* * *

><p>The plate contained turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, string beans and a biscuit. Collecting the plate was a man with stringy hair and a generally scraggly look.<p>

"And a happy holiday to you, sir."

The man smiled, several teeth were missing.

Alejandro flinched at the smile. He gave the trays of food a dismayed expression. 'Even homeless people are eating better than me', he fumed to himself.

Another disheveled man came up to him. Alejandro loaded the man's plate and handed it to him. Another creepy smile.

Alejandro scanned the rows of people eating their meals. As far as he was concerned, this was one of the most depressing places to be.

He scanned the center and saw short brown hair on a woman's head. He did a double take.

"Courtney?"

She turned around. "Alejandro?"

He laughed a little. "So, community service got you here too, huh?"

"No. I'm here because I want to be."

"And why is that?"

"Have you ever taken a good look at yourself?"

"Constantly."

"Let me try again: have you ever looked back on the things you've done, particularly on a television show seen around the world?"

"I try not to live in the past."

"Karma doesn't sleep, as I'm sure you know all too well."

"Whatever. _Tirar de la palanca de tu culo_", he muttered under his breath.

"_Voy a tener que vencer con ese palo_." Alejandro gaped at her. "Courtney _Iglesias_. I don't believe we've met."

"_Merde_."

"I'm pretty good at French, too."

* * *

><p>Owen sat on the couch amongst his family. They all had dinner plates in front of them. Still, there wasn't much eating going on. They sat, enraptured, by the television.<p>

Courtney was on the screen. "_...it's important to remember the less fortunate, not just at this time of year, but throughout the year as well."_

One of Owen's brothers pointed his fork. "Isn't that the big-mouthed girl from 'Total Drama'?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

The scene cut back to a reporter at his news desk. "_Truly a touching piece. Our final story finds us at Lake Ontario where an unidentified young woman seems to be doing her own Polar Bear Plunge."_ Izzy leapt into the water, doing a cannonball.

"Isn't that the crazy girl from 'Total Drama'?" His mother's question was a mix of disbelief and shock.

Owen's voice took on an admiring tone. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>The young man adjusted his yarmulke as he stood in front of the menorah. There were four candles yet to be lit.<p>

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"You got it, Mom."

It meant so much to the young man that he got to light them. He took the candle from the middle holder and applied its light to the candle next to it.

"_Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai E-lo-he-nu Me-lech ha-olam a-sher ki-de-sha-nu be-mitz-vo-tav ve-tzi-va-nu le-had-lik ner Chanukah._

_Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech ha-olam she-a-sa ni-sim la-avo-te-nu ba-ya-mim ha-hem bi-z'man ha-zeh."_

The young man's mother kissed him on the cheek. "Nicely done, Tyler."

"Thanks, Mom."

* * *

><p>Noah was well aware of Christmas, even though his mother's side of the family celebrated Diwali. Here on the fifth and final night, his family - cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles - gathered for dinner. Among them was an unfamiliar face.<p>

Noah's mother smiled warmly at the guest. "Heather, it is so nice to have you here. Noah has told me all about you."

Heather was caught off-guard - a new feeling for her. "I sure hope not."

"I'm glad you could join us for dinner."

The younger woman shrugged. "Well, I did promise him I'd be here."

"I'm sure you will love this."

Set in front of Heather was a plate of Tandoori chicken, curry rice, samosa, korma and naan. She cut a piece of chicken and ate it. Her eyes widened at the sudden richness of flavor.

"Not too spicy, is it?"

"No. It's fine." She leaned over to Noah. "Could I get a glass of water, please? Ice water?"

He nodded and pushed away from the table. "Coming right up."

* * *

><p>The couple tried to decide on where to go for the holidays. Their families really wanted each of them there. Ultimately, they decided on the neutral location of the Bass Pro Shops parking lot.<p>

Geoff cut the engine of his car and glanced at his passenger. She smiled back at him. They handed each other wrapped presents.

"Merry Christmas, Geoff."

"Merry Christmas, Bridge." They got to work tearing the wrapping paper off of their gifts.

She pulled out a cylindrical container. "Board wax."

"Not just board wax, but the deluxe stuff. Your board can shine, even at night."

"Awesome." He pulled out what looked to be a mold of his own hat. "It's a hat shaper, so your hat can keep its shape."

Geoff averted his gaze. "Bridgette, I have something to tell you. I sold my hat to buy the board wax."

Bridgette sighed. "I sold my board to buy the shaper."

"Well, this stinks."

She shrugged. "How about we return these and get our stuff back?"

He smiled before kissing her. "That's why I love you."

* * *

><p>The table of food looked delicious. Sitting at the table was a mother, father and their three sons. The youngest seemed truly annoyed to be there.<p>

The mother cleared her throat. "Who'd like to lead us in prayer?"

The father raised his hand "I will. Bow your heads." The youngest son did so reluctantly. "Dear Lord, thank you very much for gathering us here tonight, especially our wayward son. Also, thank you for having him arrive of his own free will and not as a police escort."

The rest of the table murmured agreement. The 'wayward son' rolled his eyes.

"And, finally, keep our son on the path of righteousness."

"Amen", the rest of the table exclaimed. The family began passing dishes around.

The father took a big piece of turkey for himself. "So, Duncan, did you ever contact that girl Courtney?"

"Oh, yes, I liked her." The mother nodded her head.

The youngest son stared incredulously. "Are you kidding? She was so bossy!"

The oldest son piled mashed potatoes onto his place. "Yeah, because you certainly don't need a girl that'll keep you in line."

"What you need is a girl that will go encourage your crap." The middle son grabbed a biscuit to top off his haul.

"Exactly. Let me be me."

The oldest son poured gravy on his potatoes. "News flash: 'me' is a troublemaker."

"Well, maybe me coming here was a mistake." He got out of his chair so fast, he knocked it over. He rushed for the door.

His mother blocked his path. "Don't think I haven't appreciated you being here, but try to understand. Juvenile hall is a memory. You're old enough to go to jail. You think you're a big shot, but you'll be a little fish in a big pond. You need to stay out of trouble, Duncan...if not for us, then certainly for yourself." She wrapped him in a hug.

He returned the gesture and pat her back. "I can't promise anything."

She nodded. "You'll try.


	9. Artful dodging

It was the second of January. Gwen and Trent had loaded their belongings, Christmas presents and all, into his car. In the house, the week following Christmas was rife with merrymaking.

It pulled away from her home. Gwen glanced out the passenger-side mirror. Trent did the same in the rear-view mirror. They could still see Pauline waving goodbye.

The car turned onto Sandford Street.

Gwen laughed a little. "That was a lot of fun."

"It sure was."

"School starts back up next week. It's too bad we can't spend that much time with your parents."

"Yeah…" Trent's doleful tone went unnoticed by his passenger.

"By the way, I almost forgot to tell you…"

"What?"

"The last day of shooting 'Pascal High', I overheard two girls talking. Apparently, there's gonna be another 'Total Drama' show." Trent slammed on the brakes, which would've sent the two of them flying if they hadn't been wearing seatbelts. "Okay, I get it: no more talking about 'Total Drama'. No need to kill us to prove your point."

Trent eased his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

Gwen settled back in her seat. "I'm getting there." Trent gently tapped the gas pedal, sending the car forward.

"Did the girls talk to you?"

"They didn't even notice me."

Trent shrugged. "I guess those girls have to learn the hard way: the show ruins lives."

Gwen sighed. "It was pretty bad, but not _all_ bad. After all, it's how we met."

Trent simply stared ahead. "Gwen, how would you like to meet my parents?"

"I'd love to. Isn't that where we're going?"

"Yeah. First, though, I want to tell you a story."

"What kind of story?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out."

* * *

><p>"And cut!" The director got up from his chair and conferred with crew members. The contestants dispersed from the spaceship set. Some of them were chatting with each other, while others jumped on their phones.<p>

"_Shooting had wrapped for that day on the second episode of 'Total Drama Action'. We had just shot the scene where we peeked through the door of the alien ship. Most of the rest of the scene would have to wait for tomorrow."_

Trent waved at Gwen as she walked away. She blew a kiss at him. He caught it. One of the interns - a nervous young man with blonde hair - tapped Trent on the shoulder. "Uh, Trent, Chris wants to see you."

"Okay. Thanks." The blonde intern looked away as Trent took off. A number of other interns darted away from him.

"_As I made my way to Chris's trailer, none of the interns would look me in the eyes. In hindsight, that should've been a _big _red flag."_

Trent opened the door to the trailer. He was amazed at how opulent it was, from the pictures of Chris with celebrities to the international delicacies.

Chris was pouring over some documents. He glanced up and smiled. "Trent, what's up?"

Trent took a seat. "You tell me."

"Well, I was just looking at a rough cut of the episode. Pretty juicy stuff."

"What juicy stuff?"

"Duncan and Gwen."

Trent laughed a little. "Doesn't seem very juicy. They're just friends."

Chris reached for the remote and turned on a flat-screen TV against the wall. Trent turned around to look. The monitor showed a montage of Duncan and Gwen laughing. "Friends hanging out in full view of you. Friends getting pretty close."

Chris paused the footage. Trent shrugged. "I don't get it. Is this supposed to bother me?"

"Well, what about this?" Chris hit the fast-forward button. The scene changed to the contestants in the cafeteria.

"_I like that movie where the aliens take over the government. 'Take me to your leader!'"_ Chris turned off the TV.

"I like movies. No shame in that."

"Admit it. You're jealous."

Trent shook his head. "You're wrong and for a very important reason: when my dad met my mom, she had a lot of male friends. It made my dad pretty jealous. Mom noticed this and she told him: 'lose the jealousy or lose me'. For Dad, that was no choice at all. 25 years later, they're still together." Trent stood up. "This has been fascinating, but I need to rest up. They're shooting the rest of the episode tomorrow, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Sit." It was less an offer than a demand. The jovial tone in Chris' voice was gone. Exasperated, Trent did as he was asked. "Let me lay it down for you. The whole 'cool, strumming his guitar, nothing bothers him normal guy' bit...it's boring. People don't watch reality TV for boring."

Trent scoffed. "I never thought of myself as boring. I mean, isn't it better that there's one or two normal people on the show? A cast full of weirdos could get pretty annoying after a while."

"You must've been a TV executive in another life, but being that you're you in this life, I'm gonna have to ask you to work some of these...eccentricities onto the show." Chris slid Trent the piece of paper.

"Obsessed...clingy...the number nine. I can't do this. It's not who I am. I have my integrity."

"Dude, you signed up for a reality show. How much integrity could you possibly have?"

Trent narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna do you a great big favor and pretend this conversation never happened." Trent stomped out of the trailer, incensed at what just transpired.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it…"

"_It was. I wish I could tell you the story ends here, but…"_

* * *

><p>Trent slept soundly in the boys' trailer. In the darkness, a rag clamped down over his nose and mouth. In the seconds between breathing in the chloroform and unconsciousness, he struggled, but it was too little, too late.<p>

He yawned and stretched in his bed. That was some nap...and what a dream he had, about being knocked out.

Trent sat up. He gazed around in shock. It looked like a hotel room, yet it wasn't. Drab wallpaper, nondescript paintings and no windows. The flat-screen TV mounted on the wall aside, the room was bare-bones in amenities; there was a bed, but no cabinets, no refrigerator and no bookshelf. Pipes ran along the ceiling. There appeared to be two doors out of the room.

He got out of bed and tried to open both doors. Locked. He shook his head. "What's going on?"

"_Oh, good. You're awake."_

Trent turned around. Chris, grinning like a maniac, appeared on the flat-screen. "Chris? Where the hell am I?"

"An old set. It's kind of an industry secret that there was a pilot produced for a reality show about a bunch of contestants forced to live in underground rooms for a chance at...it was so long ago, I can't remember the amount."

"And what am I doing here?" Trent motioned to the room around him. "Is this because I wouldn't do that crap you wanted me to?"

"The show is called 'Total Drama Action'. Without drama or action, what do you have?"

"How about a ticked-off teenager? You really don't see how extreme this is?"

"What, you think it's just a couple of wide-eyed producers running things? It's not. It's bigger. Did you see the ratings for the season finale of 'Total Drama Island'? There are people out there, forces out there who have a lot to lose. The show's gotten too big. It's in the hands of grown-ups."

"_What Chris helpfully neglected to mention was that he was one of those grown-ups."_

"Well, why stop at burying me? Why don't you just kill me?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Because murder is messy and leads to a lot of unwanted attention. Later, hater." The screen switched off. Trent growled. He glanced around. No remote.

Trent sunk onto the bed, brooding.

"_As the next...I think it was a week_ _went on, I got to know that dungeon intimately."_

Trent tried one of the doors again. It led to a bathroom. It had a shower and a toilet. He opened the medicine cabinet. Five tubes of toothpaste and twelve bars of soap.

"_Clearly, Chris wanted me down there for a while."_

Trent threw open the other door. 'Perhaps, it's a kitchen or some kind of...' He reared back. A mime was performing his 'trapped in a box' routine right before the young man's eyes. Trent slammed the door, his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest.

Trent gritted his teeth. "Real cute, McLean. Real cute."

Another door opened next to the television. It looked to be a dumb waiter. Not wide enough to climb out of and, despite not having a problem with close spaces, Trent wasn't willing to test that theory.

A tray slid out with a cover over it. Trent lifted the cover and set it aside. He saw a plate containing a sandwich and a juice box. Trent cautiously took the tray and stared at the rather basic meal.

The TV switched on. "Come on. Do you really think I'd poison the food?"

"You've gone _this_ far."

"That hurts."

Instead of the obvious comment about what can hurt, Trent merely flipped the bird. The TV switched off again.

Trent stared at the pipes over his bed. He climbed on his bed and tried to reach them. They were just out of his grasp. He jumped on the bed. After a few bounces, Trent grabbed onto a pipe. To his surprise, it was cold. Either this was a water pipe or...a pipe for something that involved water.

Trent pulled up on the pipes. After twenty, he dropped back onto the bed.

"_After a couple of days, Chris deigned to grace me with his presence once more."_

The TV switched on. Chris waved. "Hello, again."

"You know, a thought occurred to me: I'm in the opening credits. Isn't my sudden disappearance gonna cause unwanted attention?" Chris started to laugh. Trent glanced at him confusedly.

"Trent, what are you talking about? You never left."

"What?"

The screen changed. It was the cafeteria scene that Trent had shot a few days ago. He remembered stating his defense of _Hegzival to the Chief_ ("I like that movie where the aliens take over the government. 'Take me to your leader!'").

On the screen, he saw what looked a lot like himself, but it wasn't. The earlier scene had been appended with a panicked close-up of him. "_It was a good movie, wasn't it?!"_

Trent looked like he had the wind knocked out of him. "What the hell have you done?"

"It's called creating drama." Chris drew out the last word. "Awesome, right?"

"It's called bull. That's not really me."

"The only people who know that are the two of us, and since we both agree we won't tell anyone…"

"I never agreed to...Chris!" The TV switched off. Trent changed the channel. "_The only other channel available was CPAC."_

"_The political channel?!"_

Trent pressed the 'channel down' button repeatedly. Either bear witness to character assassination or get bored to death. "_The very same. I needed some kind of stimulus and since there was nothing of value on the other channel…"_

Trent turned off the television and crawled into bed.

"_From then on, I had a pretty simple daily routine: I get up…"_

Trent leapt out of bed.

"_...shower…"_

Trent glanced down despondently at the drain as the water flowed off of him.

"_...get dressed…"_

Trent took the fresh clothes from the dumb waiter.

"_... have a breakfast juice box…"_

Trent grimaced at the stale pieces of toast and the juice box on the tray.

"_...watch some CPAC…"_

Trent stared at the television, nearly nodding off.

"_...lunch juice box…"_

Trent snatched the juice box from the tray, ignoring the sandwich.

"_...exercise…"_

Trent pulled himself up on the pipes.

"_...straighten up my cell…"_

Trent moved his bed a few inches to the left.

"_...more CPAC…"_

Trent's eyelids closed and fell asleep. He caught himself and shook himself awake.

"_...dinner…"_

Trent grudingly took the sandwich from the tray and tore into it. He glanced down at it. "Liverwurst?!"

"_...Total Drama Action if I wanted to punish myself…"_

Trent winced at how unhinged this doppelganger was acting on the show. How anyone could be so brain-damaged as to believe that this was the same normal guy from the first season was a mystery that would best even Sherlock Holmes.

"_...then crying myself to sleep."_

Trent exhaled as fresh tears doused his pillow.

"_What about the pipes, Trent? Didn't you try to get someone's attention by banging on them?"_

"_Of course I did."_

Trent bounced on his bed. He grabbed a pipe with one hand. With the other, he banged on the pipe with a tray.

"_It was worthless. I wasn't anywhere near people. No way anyone would know I was gone."_

Trent dropped down onto his bed. He frisbeed the tray across the room, leaving a dent in the bathroom door.

"_Then came _my _elimination episode." _Trent turned on the TV. He switched away from CPAC and sat down on his bed. Moment by moment, his ennui mutated into rancor. "_I didn't have too much of a problem with Chris when 'Total Drama Island' started. Before he locked me in the dungeon, I admit I was mildly annoyed with him. But if I merely disliked him _before _that episode...by the time it was over, I hated him."_

"Chris!" Trent yelled the name at the top of his lungs.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear...like on Trent's screen. "Hey, Trent! You see the show?" Trent said nothing, his anger momentarily robbing him of speech. "I'm assuming that's a 'yes'. See, action, humor, drama. _That_ is good television."

"But at what cost?"

Chris laughed. "What are you talking about? You didn't even have to spend a dime."

"You've destroyed my credibility. You've ruined my life!"

"But think of this: you're gonna be the most famous contestant in the show's history!"

"But not in a positive way!"

"This is a weird way of showing gratitude. People want good television, an entertaining show. You help make that happen and you're upset?" Chris's tone suggested that he meant every word he said.

"Listen to me very carefully, Chris: when I get out of here - not if, _when_ - I'm gonna rip your head off and take a shit down your neck."

"My, my, my. I never took you for the threatening type."

"There's a big difference between threats and promises. Why don't you come down here? I'll tell you all about it."

"See, if you'd shown this kind of spunk in the first season, we wouldn't be here now."

Trent balled his hands into fists. "Let me out of here, _**now**_!"

"Hmmm. I was planning to let you out, but because of that little outburst, why don't you stay here for another month; give you a chance to cool down."

"Chris! Chris!"

"_I must've yelled every profanity I could think of. After a while, I passed out from exhaustion."_

Trent woke up on the floor. He fumed, the memory of yesterday having returned.

"_I couldn't bring myself to watch the show again. Also, that 'another month' turned into three and a half months. During that time, I lost all illusions about Chris letting me walk out. I had to get out on my own."_


End file.
